


Welcome Home

by davincescode



Category: Final Fantasy VII
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-03
Updated: 2016-01-03
Packaged: 2018-05-11 08:24:48
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 772
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5620078
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/davincescode/pseuds/davincescode
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Nothing is always what it seems.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Welcome Home

He has his back to her. The others, they have already gone inside; but for too long, he had been inside. His crimson form bleeds into dusk’s vermillion. Always obscured. Always standing just in the back. Sometime she wonders if this is something simply in all Turks’ nature; or if it is simply him.  _Tseng had been that way too._  Quietly, the Cetra reminds herself.

Like Tseng, he knows she’s there.

_“Why are you here?”_  There’s an unbidden  _Cetra_  in his domain. Reserved, again, she is reminded of Tseng; but she is also reminded of the rare occasions the Turk would smile. She has loved those rare moment of serendipity, she cherished them.

_I am here because we may be alike._

“I seek a man.” His question is responded. She might  _just_  have to fight against that tiny flood of rose on her cheeks. Words and interpretations, some can take that on  _all_  kind of wrong levels. Pearl white teeth chewing upon dusk, the star of her emerald remains upon him– upon his back.  _But, ah, he would know what she means, wouldn’t he?_

_Shadow bringer._

They are alike. She tells herself.

“There is no man here.” He’s turning toward her now. Crimson and vermillion, ebony cuts contrast on his ivory skin. His lips sealed beneath layer of red, she was grateful for the solitude offered– from their comrade, from Gaia. Mother’s still whispering, voice fading to a low murmur– peace, rarely offered, but favor. “Only remnants.” His ruby stones are on her now, but they are not what has caught her entranced. Crimson bleeds upon vermillion; shadow intermingled; magenta folds into black.  _Bleakness_  Her inhalation is drawn with a slight shiver.  _But also sadness._  She can never explain. Color. Aura? Sometimes it’s how she feels about people. It’s taken the same way Gaia’s hushed murmur is her lullaby and her scream brings tears to the Cetra’s eyes. It is how she knows about him,  _learns_  about him.

_Shadow bringer._

A remnant,

_…but a man nonetheless._

It is with a spark that flame can be rekindled, isn’t it? She is the last. He is the end. He is also the beginning– a snake eating upon itself.

He is a man.

“What do you seek, Vincent?” His name. She should tread this path with care. He’s still wary. He’s always wary.  _Like that bird you found and nurse. Or a cat._  Elmyra has always laughed at her daughter and her charity cases. He must not have expected the question; there’s a pause. The air, it is changing again.

She thought he would never answer.

_“Gaia’s embrace.”_  He keeps his feature calm, but there’s bitterness escaped. Bitter irony, he’s amused in his own sufferance, and she has to school herself to remain where she is and not take a step toward him, her hand needs to remain upon her chest and not reach out to touch his cheek.  _Careful. “But you know that is not possible, don’t you?”_  He is smiling. Again, there’s that unbidden  _Cetra._

He knows of her as much as she knows of him.

_But she knows more._

“But you can.” Words are accentuated with steps. She is taking chances. Peridot caught upon crimson, his gaze follows her movement. He hasn’t stepped back yet; and the last of the lost race marched on. She’s a warrior as much as he is. This warrior also has a herd of butterflies in the pit of her stomach too. Still she soldiers on. “Let me show you.” She is being bold. Another request, another step, and she was standing in front of him. “Please?” Pleading, she is but also firm in her resolution.

A nod of his head has a small smile formed upon her lips.

Keeping eye contact, she reaches up,  _really,_ ** _really_**  reaching up, because he was so much much taller than her. His raven silk parted to her hands. He’s tensing up. Wariness, confusion, it returns to his eyes as her fingers grazed upon his nape. A Cetra girl, she has a secret of her own. Mischief dances in emerald, so is understanding. There’s a teasing quirk of her brow before she slowly draw him in, his head resting upon her breast.

_Can you feel this pulse beating?_  This is the lifestream’s throbbing glow.

_Can you feel this warmth?_  It is the warmth of Mother’s embrace.

_Can you feel the whisper of this heart?_  It’s the connection everyone is having to each other upon their return.

“…Welcome home,  _Vincent_.”

He is a but a man, a man in Gaia’s embrace.

The tension in his shoulder, it is gone now.

_Welcome home._

 


End file.
